


It's Not A Side Effect of the Mistletoe

by TheSpiderThatKnowsThePlan



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Christmas, M/M, Mistletoe, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:20:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21971986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpiderThatKnowsThePlan/pseuds/TheSpiderThatKnowsThePlan
Summary: FINALLY MY MERRY LITTLE WENTZMAS ENTRY IS FINISHED!Based on a tumblr prompt where person A is desperately trying to get person B under the mistletoe, using more dramatic and ridiculous excuses every time, and Person B is oblivious.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Comments: 21
Kudos: 45
Collections: Have Yourself Some Merry Little Peterick 2019





	It's Not A Side Effect of the Mistletoe

When Pete decided to hang a sprig of mistletoe over the entryway to his kitchen, his only thought was getting his favorite human underneath it and finally getting a kiss from those beautiful, lush lips. He sighed dreamily at the thought as he stood on a stepstool, carefully wrapping the little vine-like wires around a Command hook and making sure it was just out of sight on the kitchen side.

 _Can’t be too obvious,_ Pete thought with a fond little smirk, _or he’ll never enter my house again._

“Patrick will never fall for this,” Andy pronounced sagely. As soon as Pete had mentioned anything resembling climbing a ladder, Andy had insisted on being there to supervise. _The last thing anyone needs is finding you sprawled unconscious on your kitchen floor with mistletoe up your nose, or something_ , he’d snipped, but Pete thought he’d caught a smidge of affection and actual real protectiveness in his voice. And for this, he loved Andy.

Almost as much as he loved Patrick.

So, now, he stood perched precariously on his stepstool ( _it’s a stepstool, not a ladder,_ Pete had insisted, but was still glad for the company while he did this), trying to make sure the mistletoe was securely in place, and wishing with all his heart for this to work.

“It’s not so much about Patrick falling for _this_ as falling for _me_ , my friend,” Pete replied. “Anyway, _The Kissing Patrick Project_ is destined to be a success!” He straightened up as much as he could and raised an emphatic finger as he pronounced this.

“You’re ridiculous,” the drummer chided, but again with nothing but fondness, as he tucked a lock of his thick, wavy hair behind his ear. “Why don’t you just tell him how you feel?”

Pete jumped down from the stepstool, causing Andy to start a little in his seat at the kitchen table, and then splayed a melodramatic hand on his chest. “What? That’s not nearly a grand enough gesture for what I’m trying to convey, Hurley. This is _Patrick_ , the love of my life!”

“Should I mention that he’s the fourth love of your life in the last, like, two years?” Andy quipped with a cocked eyebrow.

Pete sighed heavily. “This is different. Patrick’s special! Even a total _downer_ like you has to know how important he is to me.” His tone was veering into forlorn.

Mercifully, Andy decided to let up. “I know, dude. I just live to give you shit. You do know that, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Pete dismissed with a wave of his hand. “Anyway, I’m down from the _stepstool_. I think I’ll be safe now.”

Andy hummed pensively. “I don’t know. I mean, if Patrick punches you, someone should be on hand to call 911, don’t you think?”

Pete looked like he was about to burst into tears. “Dude! Quit saying things like that! You’re supposed to be supportive!”

“I’ve never made any such promises.” Andy stood up, hugged Pete firmly, and said, “Seriously, though, good luck, Pete. I hope this works out for you.” His tone was so warm and sincere, Pete felt like he might cry. Again.

“Thanks,” he murmured.

******

Patrick came over the next day to work on some new songs. He turned up on Pete’s doorstep with his acoustic on his back, all shifting feet and self-effacing sideburns, and Pete’s heart leapt in his chest.

“Hey, Pete,” the younger man murmured, mostly to his own sneakers.

“Rickster!” Pete exclaimed. He pulled him over the threshold and into a fierce hug, kicking the door closed behind them as he did so.

Patrick returned the hug, but growled in annoyance when he was finally allowed to breathe again. “Don’t call me that.” He fixed his newsboy cap so it sat low over his eyes. It didn’t hide his blush from Pete’s overly attentive gaze, though—or that growl from the Entirely Inappropriate Thoughts At Completely Inconvenient Times section of his brain. Pete was quite certain that that part of his brain never really actually slept, though.

 _Especially not when I’m supposed to be trying to sleep_ , he thought. _OK, OK, focus. Mistletoe. The Kissing Patrick Project._

“Come on! Let’s get you hydrated, and then we can work!” He pulled Patrick by the hand toward the kitchen, stopping conveniently just at the archway, where his refrigerator sat. He opened it, and the door almost completely blocked passage into the kitchen.

However, to his dismay, Patrick went to the sofa, took his guitar out of the case, and now sat tuning it. Once it was ostensibly to his satisfaction, he began strumming absently, humming along. “Just water is fine for me,” he murmured.

Pete simultaneously felt like melting and exploding. He looked longingly at the near-perfect specimen sitting in his living room, totally oblivious anything outside of the music, least of all his lovesick best friend leaning on the open refrigerator door, two bottles of water in his hands, staring at the back of his head as though it were a Degas.

 _If you only knew,_ he thought with a sigh.

“How about you snap out of your daydream and go get your notebook? We have work to do,” Patrick called without looking up. His voice was fond, but with a thread of impatience in it. He was obviously onto something, and needed the words before he lost whatever he’d created.

Pete slammed the refrigerator door harder than he’d intended, and they both jumped. “Right,” he murmured with what he hoped was a convincing grin, but Patrick still wasn’t looking at him. He deposited the water bottles on the coffee table and then marched upstairs to his bedroom. He grabbed his latest journal, already pretty beaten up from Pete’s most recent spate late-night thought-purge sessions.

When he returned downstairs, Patrick was still strumming the same progression as when he left, eyes closed intently, trying to commit it to memory, it seemed. Pete felt his palms sweating, and blanched a bit when he saw the damp impression of one of them on the cover of the notebook as he sat down.

“Um, here,” he said sheepishly, handing it over. As soon as his hands were empty, he folded his knees up against his chest and hugged his legs while Patrick perused.

It was maybe a minute or two before Patrick brightened and one corner of his mouth turned upward. “Yeah,” he whispered. Pete felt the sound all the way down to his toes, and he curled them restlessly. Within another minute or so, Patrick had most of a song constructed while Pete looked on, pretty sure he had little cartoon hearts in his eyes.

They went on the rest of the afternoon like that, Patrick constructing melodies around Pete’s words, while Pete offered a change or two occasionally. Frankly, he thought everything Patrick touched was pretty much gold. He could have sung about prepping for a colonoscopy and made it sound like the best thing ever.

Suddenly, the younger man slumped back against the cushions, guitar across his lap, and looked at his watch. “Holy smokes, it’s already past eight,” he mumbled wearily.

Pete let his legs fall to the floor and sighed as the circulation began to return. “Um, you could stay a while. Watch a movie, maybe order some pizza?” He stood up carefully and waddled toward the fridge while his best friend laughed breathily at him. “You want a beer or something? Come check out my selection and pick out something,” he offered, opening the fridge and looking hopefully back through the archway.

Patrick stood and stretched his arms above his head, acoustic still in his left hand, revealing a strip of his belly where his t-shirt rode up, creamy white with just the barest trace of a gingery happy trail above the waist of his jeans. “Nah, I should get home,” he groaned while Pete tried his very best not to stare, or drool too openly. “I’ll be back tomorrow, though. I think we’re onto some good stuff here.”

Pete’s smile brightened, and he nodded eagerly. “Oh, yeah, tomorrow! Around ten?”

“It definitely won’t be that early,” Patrick snarked. “The day I’m ever awake and out of the house before noon when I don’t absolutely have to be, please know that I am clearly a pod person.”

“Duly noted.” Pete walked his best friend out, then leaned on the door as soon as it was closed. He sighed heavily and let his eyes slip shut. “Goddammit.”

******

Much to both of their surprise, Patrick was at Pete’s house just after twelve the next day.

“Well, look at you, all risen and shined at noon,” Pete observed. “Who are you, and what have you done with my best friend?”

Patrick schooled his face into an even expression and deadpanned, “I know not of what you speak. I am Patrick.” When Pete only stared in confusion, he added, “You may examine me more closely, if that will satisfy you.”

Pete thought he caught a twinkle in his friend’s eye as he said this, but he couldn’t be sure. Anyway, he had to focus on the Kissing Patrick Project. He grabbed Patrick’s wrist and hauled him (though Pete liked to think of it as ‘spiriting him’) to the archway into the kitchen again. Patrick stopped short about a foot from it, but Pete just held tight and pulled.

“What do you want to drink?” he asked. “I have quite an array, so you should probably come look.”

Patrick yanked his wrist back with such force that they both stumbled. “Water’s fine,” he murmured, his brow furrowed in apparent confusion. “I don’t need to look in your fridge to know that.” His tone seemed… annoyed? Maybe even hurt?

Pete frowned, himself. “OK,” he replied. He opened the fridge, pulled out a water and a Coke for himself, then joined Patrick in the living room.

Once again, he was sitting on the couch, tuning and humming to himself. “Notebook,” he reminded Pete crisply as he set the drinks on the table, and Pete turned immediately on his heel to go retrieve it. He sighed heavily once he was in his room. Maybe Andy was right: Patrick was never going to fall for it. He was too focused on _working_ , on writing songs and making music.

Pete picked up his notebook and went back downstairs, his chest tingling warmly at the sound of Patrick’s voice as he worked out a melody. _I have to make this work_ , he thought. He sat down and just listened for a moment.

“Are you embarrassed about your words, all of a sudden?” Patrick asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Pete looked down and realized he’d been clutching the notebook against his chest like a lovesick schoolgirl. “No, um, of course not,” he murmured, handing it over. Patrick only gave him a quizzical look, and then they got to work.

A couple of hours later, they had the frameworks for a few more songs for Patrick to expand on.

Not wanting him to leave, Pete blurted out, “Say, you wanna help me trim my tree?”

“Um, what tree?” Patrick asked, looking around.

Inspiration struck. “The one we’re going to buy!” he crowed, standing and pulling Patrick up with him. “C’mon, Tricky, let’s go pick out a tree. And some ornaments and stuff.”

Patrick just smiled fondly. “Alright.”

They went to the tree lot, which was mobbed, what with it being December already. Patrick clutched Pete’s hand nervously at the sight of _the people, so many PEOPLE_ , and Pete was more than happy to hold on in return. They chose a tree and had it strapped to Pete’s roof for them, and then went looking for decorations.

The mall was even more crowded than the tree lot, which Patrick hadn’t thought possible. He trapped Pete’s hand in a death grip, and Pete just chuckled and intertwined their fingers. With him leading, the pair navigated the stores with a lot more ease and a lot less hassle than Patrick had imagined.

When they got back, they brought the decorations in first, then set about unstrapping the tree. It came off the roof with more force than they anticipated, and they both fell back into the snow under its weight in a fit of yelps and laughter. They got it inside and leaned it in the corner of the living room, at which point Pete realized he hadn’t placed his tree stand. He went to the basement, leaving Patrick to make sure the tree didn’t fall over, and then came back promptly with the stand and skirt.

Once the tree was firmly ensconced and watered, the two men unpacked the bags from the mall. “Ornaments first, then garland,” Patrick pronounced solemnly.

Pete saluted and began attaching hooks to baubles and placing them on branches. Patrick began directing Pete, naturally:

“No, no, Pete, that should go over there.”

“Gimme that one. I’ll hang it here.”

“You have to spread them out more! You can’t just have all the red balls in one spot!”

“I’ll put my red balls wherever I like,” Pete said matter-of-factly, but almost immediately lost his composure and started laughing. It was a hoarse, almost demented sound, and soon, Patrick was laughing, too.

They reached for the garland at the same time, and their fingers touched. As they passed it back and forth around the tree, they touched again. And again.

“We need a topper,” Patrick observed.

“We’ll get one tomorrow,” Pete replied automatically.

Patrick turned to him. “OK.”

 _I want to kiss you so badly_ , Pete thought as they smiled at each other.

“C’mere a second,” he said suddenly, pulling Patrick toward the kitchen yet again.

“I don’t want anything to drink, Pete,” he complained.

“No, I know, but did you ever do this?” He wedged himself in the doorframe with his back against one side and feet against the other, suspending himself off the floor.

Patrick stared in utter bewilderment. “No. I’m too short.”

“I bet you could if you lean on your shoulders instead of your ass,” Pete instructed as he put first one foot down, then the other. “Try it.” He tried to pull Patrick into the doorframe with him.

Patrick planted his feet and held fast. “No. What’s gotten into you, Pete?” He actually looked… hurt?

Pete shrugged. “Just… uh, well, you know, being in L.A. now, we’re at constant risk of earthquakes. And where is the safest place to be in an earthquake?”

“Chicago?” the younger man sniped, crossing his arms.

Pete chook his head. “Nope. In a doorframe! Reduces the risk of falling debris! Come on! Earthquake drill!” He tried to grab Patrick’s wrist again.

Patrick stepped out of his reach and shook his head. “I don’t know what the fuck your problem is, Pete, but you’d better cut out the weird shit.” He picked up his guitar. “I’ll see you later.”

With that, he was gone.

Pete slumped his shoulders and sighed. “My problem is that I need to get you under the mistletoe so I can kiss you,” he said to the empty living room, now aglow with the lights of the tree.

It did nothing to lift Pete’s spirits now, though.

******

The next day, Pete sat sullenly at his kitchen table, still in his same clothes from yesterday, scrawling in his notebook as words of desperate longing poured out of him.

_I love everything about you that hurts so let me see your moves  
I need your lips pressed close to mine  
True blue  
Things aren’t the same anymore  
Some nights it gets so bad  
We almost pick up the phone  
It’s a strange way of saying that I know I’m supposed to love you_

Just then, his front door opened and closed. He barely paid it any mind, he was so lost in his thoughts.

“Pete?” Patrick asked as he stepped into the kitchen.

He looked up. “Hey,” he said in surprise.

Patrick opened the fridge and bent to look into it, showcasing his gorgeous ass.

Just then it hit Pete: _He’s under the mistletoe!_

He got up from his chair to rush over to his best friend, to sweep him into his arms and kiss him in an incredibly romantic gesture. However, he didn’t realize that his shoelace was caught around the leg of his chair, and his feet were suddenly pulled out from under him. He went face down on the hard, hard Pergo floor, and would have probably knocked out his front teeth, had he not put out a hand and turned his face at the last second. Instead, he hit his cheekbone and part of his upper lip on the floor.

“Pete!” Patrick rushed over and knelt on the floor. “Pete, are you OK?”

Pete groaned. “No. Just leave me here to die of embarrassment.”

Patrick untangled his shoelace from the chair and rolled him over. “Oh, come on. This was just an accident. I’ve seen you do much dumber things, and on purpose.”

“True,” Pete replied, then laughed, then winced and hissed in a breath. “Ow.”

“Alright, sit up. Let me see.” Patrick guided Pete to sit with his back against the island, then cradled Pete’s face in his hands.

Their faces were mere inches apart, and Pete felt his heart rate pick up while the younger man inspected him. “Is it bad?” he asked.

Patrick hummed thoughtfully. “Well, your lip is starting to swell. Does it hurt when I do this?” He leaned in and pressed their lips together. It was gentle, soft, and also undeniable in its intention.

When he pulled back, Pete was staring in awe. “No,” he breathed, “that doesn’t hurt at all.”

“Then I guess you’re alright.” Patrick shrugged. “Sorry it wasn’t under your mistletoe.”

Pete’s eyes went wide. “You knew?”

“Well, I knew you were up to something, but I wasn’t sure what until just now. You were trying so hard to get me over to the fridge, and at first, I thought it was a prank, like you were gonna try and stuff me in there. Then, I thought maybe there was something weird or gross in there you were gonna try and make me look at, or smell, or something. Finally, I figured I’d just look for myself, and just as I opened the door, I saw something out of the corner of my eye, and I finally looked up, and there it was.” He sighed fondly and shook his head. “Why didn’t you just ask me? Or, I don’t know, pick up on the fact that I’ve been trying to get you to kiss me anyway?”

“You were?” Pete frowned in confusion, then winced again. “Ow.”

“So, why didn’t you say something?” Patrick deflected.

“Why didn’t you?” Pete challenged.

“Probably the same reasons you didn’t. I didn’t want to risk making things weird if you didn’t feel the same.” There was a hint of sorrow in his eyes as he brushed Pete’s bangs out of his face.

Pete quirked up the good side of his mouth. “And then you saw the mistletoe I’d desperately been trying to get you under, and you knew.”

Patrick rolled his eyes and nodded. “Yeah.”

“God, we’re idiots,” Pete observed. “Andy told me you’d never fall for it, and that I’d end up injuring myself. Looks like he was right.”

“Andy was in on this, too?” Patrick recoiled a bit.

Pete grabbed his shoulder. “No, baby. He was just here when I hung it, to make sure I didn’t fall off the stepstool. He thought the whole thing was lunacy.”

“He’s not wrong.” Patrick’s face softened, and his ocean eyes brightened as he stared into Pete’s.

“He never is.” Pete shook his head slightly.

Patrick made to get up. “I think I should get you some ice.”

Pete pulled him back down and into his lap. “I think you should stay right here.”

“Maybe,” he considered, “if you call me that name again.”

“Baby,” Pete crooned, and pulled him into a deeper kiss. “Stay with me.”

Patrick pulled back and rested their foreheads together. “Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, like anyone else, I appreciate all the comments and kudos, or pretty much whatever you have to say, provided it's not patently cruel. :)


End file.
